


Welcome to the Nightmare in My Head

by Latenightsgunfights



Category: Monster High
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Friendship, Holt being Holt, Identity Issues, Kissing, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latenightsgunfights/pseuds/Latenightsgunfights
Summary: Jackson Jekylls used to waking up hungover in alleyways with a painful headache and no memory of the night before. That tends to happen when your other personality fills the role of 'rebellious teen' better than you ever could.Now Holts been revealed to the entirety of Monster High, as if Jackson wasn't at the bottom of the social hierarchy already, but he soons finds support in unexpected places.
Relationships: Holt Hyde & Frankie Stein, Jackson Jekyll/Frankie Stein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	1. Oh, Shit

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a reupload. It's been sitting in my docs for months and now I've decided to finally finish it. 
> 
> As you've probably guessed I'm a little bit older than the intended audience for MH now but it was my childhood. I feel like characters like Jekyll and Hyde could of been so interesting if fleshed out and I think the concept of Monster High would be awesome as a Teen Up series or something. Obviously I'm not after a second 'Euphoria' but fleshing out characters, exploring characters like Clawdeen being Lesbian or Ace, or Draculaura dealing with blood aversion in a blood heavy, Monster World. Maybe I'll write it. I can dream I guess, haha. 
> 
> Title is from the song [Mz Hyde by Halestorm](https://youtu.be/j2OD-dV7j_I)

* * *

The splitting headache making residence behind his eyes woke him from his alcohol induced slumber, and with a painful wince Jackson Jekyll sat up from the mud filled puddle he was sleeping in and looked around. Twigs, leaves and all manner of the local wildlife clung to his hair and stood out starkly against the brash yellow knit of his sweater. Jackson brushed them away haphazardly, trying to pinpoint where he was. _Cleo’s party, loud music and then… nothing._

The light of the sun was just pushing through the darkness of the night sky, bathing everything in a dull pink color. Shadows elongated and stretched, warping around the ancient Victorian style architecture vampires seemed to favor. _Vampires?_ All of a sudden, one of the shadows extending across him didn’t seem so building like anymore, and Jacksons pale fingers pulled anxiously at the decaying grass of the courtyard as he slowly turned around.

Count Dracula, looking terrifyingly normal in a red velvet bathrobe, was staring at him menacingly from a shaded spot on the patio. _Great._

The booming voice rang out across the garden, and it took all of Jackson's willpower not to cover his ears, his headache getting worse by the second. “What, pray tell, are you doing on my property, boy?” His voice had a thick Romanian tinge to it. Fumbling for an answer, mouth hanging open awkwardly, the Normie realized he didn’t know. He looked up into the Counts eyes with a surprising lack of fear or intimidation, about to say just that, when a head graced with pink and black highlights popped out from behind the looming vampire.

“Father? What’s happening?”

“Go back to your room, Little Bat,” the Count replied firmly but not unkindly, anger dissipating quickly, a purple tinged hand reaching up and stroking her bangs back.

Jackson's eyes widened when he realized, turning as fast as his headache would allow him. _She can’t see me like this, she can’t-_

“Jackson? Is that you?”

 _Shit_. 

Turning around to face the two vampires again, he felt a reddish blush sluggishly make its way up his neck and ears, shame building up like a wave and threatening to crash over him. He curled up under the judgmental gaze of the undead beings. 

“You know this boy, Draculaura?”

Jackson snorted despite himself, blaming it on the alcohol lingering in his system. _Dracula. Dracu-laura. It made so much sense. How smart._ The Count was not amused.

“Yes Father!” she gushed, doing a strange little bounce on her tiptoes, much too excited about all this, “he’s the Normie that joined Monster High last week or so. Heath’s cousin!” She went silent for a moment after that, index finger and thumb meeting her chin in an over exaggerated thinking pose, “though…” she once again got to her tippy-toes to whisper in her Fathers ear. “He’s really shy and a bit dorky. Jackson doesn’t seem like the _type.”_ Draculaura gestured to him and her Father understood her meaning.

Playing with the grass idly, Jackson silently seethed, having stopped listening upon hearing the word _‘Normie’_ . It was always ‘Jackson the _Normie’_ or ‘That Nerdy Normie’. People only knew him for his heritage. In a town full of those who pride themselves on differing from the norm, it was embarrassing.

A cold hand was placed on his forehead, and he looked up to see the Count shockingly close. Jackson didn’t flinch. “Look at me, boy.” He struggled to focus his eyes. Dracula wrinkled his nose at the smell of booze. “Maybe wait until you’re old enough to drink before doing so, yes?” The Count turned around to grab something his daughter had picked up, and placed what Jackson realized was his glasses on his face. The vampire came into focus. Dracula looked kind now, no longer looming and angry. The vampire's gaze was tinged with something awfully close to concern, and Jackson looked away instead of meeting it, not wanting to be the ‘ _Normie_ who didn’t fit in’ or the ‘ _Normie_ who chose alcohol over friends’. It wasn’t like that. _He_ wasn’t like that. _If only I could remember._

Jackson got up suddenly, stumbling into the arms of the Count and staring up at him. “I’ll drive you home, my boy, it’s a school day after all.” The mention of school, of all the staring eyes and snide comments, pushed him over the edge, and Jackson managed to nod slightly before vomiting.

Jackson Jekyll threw up over Count Dracula’s slippers.

Draculaura patted his back sympathetically.

* * *

Jackson stepped into the Creepateria pulling his hood up and taking a right when Deuce Gorgon waved him over to the boys table. Sore joints creaked as he gingerly sat down, wincing. Count Dracula’s backyard didn’t substitute for a bedroom, it seemed. Jackson rested his aching head on the table. 

Deuce grinned, leaning with his elbows on the table, the chill vibe he always had present and unmoving. The snakes that made up his Mohawk seemed tired though, half of them sleeping, perhaps revealing more about his feelings than his face did. Jackson noticed how Cleo seemed to be avoiding him. “Hey JJ how’s it going? Where were you last night?” Jacksons head shot up. _I wasn’t at Cleo’s party?_ Confusion and fear laced through every cell, and he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Yeah man! There was this cool new DJ called Holt Hyde, and he was cool and he let me carry his equipment and-“ Heath Burns excited ramble was cut short by his hair and hands bursting into flames, he let out an exhilarated laugh, seemingly never tired. 

Clawd Wolf nodded at Jackson idly, popping up the lid of his reusable water bottle and spraying Heath down with the contents. “Me and Draculaura danced _all_ night. It was _hot._ ” The werewolf leaned on his hand and gazed off, mind occupied with thoughts of his Ghoul. Jackson paled at the mention of her name, remembering the incident at the early hours of the morning. Remembering throwing up on Dracula’s shoes and making a run for it, jumping the fence like some comic book criminal. A blush crept across his neck and he pulled his hood down further to hide it. 

“Draculaura and _I,_ ” Gil Webber corrected the love-struck werewolf, before turning to the group and sharing his story, “I finally talked with Lagoona and I think we’re doing OK.” The group cheered at that and Jackson winced, head still hurting.

“So? Jackson?” Deuce waved his hand in front of the Normies face, not forgetting his earlier question. His usual insistence to include Jackson when he didn’t fit in was endearing, but now it was grating his nerves. Fumbling for an answer, he searched his mind for clues on where he might have been, patience wearing thin. They already viewed him as weaker, knowing of his blackouts would make it worse. _Why am I like this? Jackson_ didn’t know what came over him, then, and the reply seemed unlike his usual self. “Erm, how about you mind your business, “ he didn’t quite snap at the Gorgon, the grin he found plastered on his face teetering on the edge of forced. Deuce backed off immediately, knowing he’d win any fight against Jackson but still having enough respect for him to leave the Normie alone. It didn’t stop Clawd from mumbling _“rude,_ ” under his breath. None of them really knew Jackson, after all. Except for maybe Heath, and he was currently rambling about his man crush on the new DJ.

Jackson regained his self control and reached over to the food the boys were sharing between them, some weird sloppy monster breakfast they served at the Creepateria in the mornings. Jackson brought it to his mouth experimentally, having avoided eating in his rush to shower and avoid his Mother. Dr Jekyll was not appreciative of underage drinking, convincing herself Jackson knew better. The phrase _‘better late than never’_ not applying to teenage rebellion, apparently. The food tasted good, anyway, and Jekyll pulled it towards himself and dug in, deciding to eat now and question the contents later. The other boys were trying not to look at him strangely. Something he’d quickly gotten used to at this school. _Whatever._

“Jackson!”

The shout paralyzed him momentarily, the food he was stuffing his face with slipping, causing him to cough and choke. Deuce rose up and slapped his back none too gently, though Jackson presumed the Gorgon simply didn’t know his own strength, rather than him punishing the Normie for his earlier outburst. _Not everyone’s out to get you, you know._

Jackson turned, wincing at the glare of bolts in sunlight, hood falling down. He first glanced at the green of her skin, eyes moving to the criss cross of her stitches, before meeting the differing colors of her eyes. Her very angry eyes.

_Shit._

Frankie Stein stomped towards him, sparking like a live wire, heels clicking against the lino. _She’s mad at me. Why is she mad at me? What have I done now?_ The Ghoul came to a halt in front of him, giving her heel one more satisfactory click and placing her hands on her hips. She turned to the lunch table she’d come from and Jackson followed her gaze, seeing Cleo DeNile giving her a thumbs up, as if rating the runway walk she just did as she approached him. _Great. She got a bitch tutorial before coming over. Thanks Cleo._

“We need to talk.”

“Ok.”

The boys behind him winced and ‘ooed’ at his dismissive response. Deuce in particular looked concerned. _Can he stop being nice for one second!_ Jackson didn’t know what happened or how he ended up waking up where he did, there was no question she could ask that he could answer, there was nothing to talk about. He felt so _irritated._ His joints hurt, his head hurt, and he was so tired of being here.

Frankie turned to Cleo as if waiting for instruction. Jackson didn’t bother looking. He heard Clawd lean over and whisper to Deuce, “thought he was supposed to be the shy one, what’s his problem.” Jackson shoved shaking hands into his pockets, unsure if the trembling was upset or anger. He should try waking up in random places every few days, drunk and confused. Maybe he’d have a bit more sympathy.

_Slap._

It was sharp and painful, Frankie’s hand comically flying off with the force of it. A warm redness blossomed on his right cheek, his eyes watering instinctively. The whole Creepateria had gone quiet minus Cleo, who was cheering on her friend for following her lead. _Stop staring at me._

“You are so,” Frankie hesitated, as if holding in a swear, searching for the right word in her dictionary of a brain no doubt, “infuriating!”

Jackson removed his hands from his pockets, the right one coming up to rub the sore spot on his face.

“Every time I try to hang out with you or talk to you disappear! I try to eat lunch with you and you don’t turn up, I invite you to a party and you don’t turn up,” she stamped her foot, “what is your problem, Jackson? If you don’t like me just say.”

“I-“ he stammered, shy demeanor back full force, the weight of their stares almost crippling. _I was supposed to meet Frankie, how could I forget?_ He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry Frankie. Can we _please_ talk about this in private.” She seemed to notice his anxiety, the way his eyes darted around the room, and reluctantly nodded, much to Cleo’s dismay. The Creepateria went back to their conversations, the show was over.

The bell rang.

* * *

Mad Science was usually fun.

Jackson didn’t usually have a hangover.

Life was shit sometimes.

“Mr. Jekyll!”

Head shooting up from the desk, Jekyll glared groggily at the teacher, trying to remember what the question was. “Ummm-“

Mr. Hack didn’t allow the Normie to finish, dismissing him with the wave of a hand. His gruff voice boomed as he shouted, “see me after class!”

For a moment, a small part of Jackson's brain wanted him to fight back. _Cuss the teacher out! Speak your mind!_ Jackson shook his head, the thoughts unwanted and intrusive.

A snicker ran through the crowd as he lay his head down, lightly thumping it against the table.

* * *

“How _dare_ you embarrass me like that. And with Operetta of all Ghouls!

“What? Let me explain-”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’ve made your choice and may I just say it was a tacky one!”

The confrontation in the hallway was rather entertaining, but Jackson made a conscious effort to look away from the stand off Cleo and Deuce were having. He needed to prove to Frankie how sorry he was. “Listen Frankie, I’m sorry. It was never my intention to hurt your feelings. “He kept his voice low, just for her to hear, though something in the back of his mind told him that nothing could distract from the very public fight a few paces away.

“If you don’t want to hurt me, why do you act like this?” She had tears in her eyes. They hadn’t known each other for long but the connection was there. Frankie _meant_ something. _Be honest._

“I have, ” he looked into her sad eyes, “blackouts? It’s difficult to explain. I don’t remember what happened last night. I woke up in Draculauras garden, with a splitting headache and a hangover to rival all hangovers. I’m sorry I was rude to you. That’s all I can tell you, _I swear._ ” He looked into her eyes so intently, as if he were trying to convince her through just eye contact. That was the truth. Frankie smiled sadly.

“I believe you.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. She continued speaking, though, smile faltering. “I spent the night with a different guy. Holt Hyde? He agreed to take me out some time. I’m sorry Jackson.”

The fake grin from earlier was back. Jackson liked to think it made him look scary, terrifyingly unhinged, perfectly un-bullyable. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in her neck bolts he realized it did _not._ He looked like he was about to cry. That explained Deuces earlier concern at least. _Oh._

Silence had stretched on for too long. _Say something._ Jackson stammered out a weak, “that’s OK,” before turning to walk away.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, but we haven’t know each other for very long and you’ve already bailed on me so many times and-“

“What’s he like?”

Frankie paused, wincing. _Why did I ask that?_ “He’s loud, funny, confident, a monster-“

“Everything I’m not, then?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s OK I understand.”

“Jackson I-“

“Frankie! Listen to this! Look at what _my boyfriend_ wrote for me!”

Cleo’s shrill voice echoed in the hallway as she ran over, clutching Deuces purple headphones with a happy grin. They’d made up after all. _At least one of us did._ Jackson hated being pissed off about this. He didn’t _own_ Frankie. _But I like her enough for it to hurt. This isn’t good._

DeNile forced the headphones in between the two, loud music blaring out the speakers, and Jackson paled. “Not loud music!” His head swam and he couldn’t focus. The feeling the music gave him was like an anxiety attack. Heart pounding, palms sweaty. _I can’t see. I can’t breathe!_

Jackson ran instinctively, trying to get away from the noise, he hit the stairs and fell, hitting his knees. He managed another few steps before the noise was too much and he let out a cry of agony, body splitting and morphing, flesh ripping and forming again, hair catching fire and _burning_ despite the fire elemental blood he knew he had _somewhere._ Jackson collapsed onto the stairs and blacked out.

Everyone stared in shock and confusion at the Normie convulsing on the stairs. But he wasn’t a Normie anymore. The blue fiery being that rose from the stairs wasn’t Jackson. Frankie screamed. Jaws dropped.

Holt Hyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this needs to be said but incase any younger people are reading. Do NOT hit your partner. Ever. Frankie was an asshole at first and allowed herself to be influenced by Cleo. Don't be like Frankie. 
> 
> Thanks 😌


	2. Teen rebellion, a handy dandy guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, details and link to title song are in first chapter notes.

Giggling echoed in the empty street as Holt Hyde stumbled drunkenly home, feet catching on invisible obstacles sending him haphazardly flying with a laugh, the flame of his hair casting funny looking shadows on the gravel. 

Holt had a love hate relationship with the night time. A long night of partying was always fun, but he hated being reminded of the time before his trigger changed, wanting to see the sunrise and unsure of why he couldn’t. 

The party had been a success, the DJ wandering home one hundred or so dollars richer. The host, some random kid from school, hadn’t been so keen on him drinking, though.  _ Dork.  _ Everyone seemed concerned for his well-being now that his dorky brain-mate had been revealed. Holt didn’t care. 

No one had ever bothered with Jackson before, Holt could tell. Knowing of Jackson's existence had made him a tad more considerate of the random items and papers scattered about his room, previously being convinced his mother had dumped them in there or he’d acquired them on a self destructive bender. Everything seemed to click into place when Frankie had shown him a video proving his nature. Holt had mixed feelings. 

Rummaging through Jackson's belongings had at least given him some indication of what the Normie was like, and Holt didn’t like what he’d found. Hyde had pulled a roughed up journal of sorts from the scary chasm that made up Jackson's sock drawer. Roughly skimming the pages had revealed enough. The inadequacy, the  _ fear.  _ It was enough to make a fiery monster like himself pity the kid. Life sucked sometimes. Jackson described intrusive thoughts and Holt recognized himself in the tone, guilt slipping in before he shoved it down, forcing the stupid book back in the drawer and pretending he’d never seen it. 

The good thing that came out of this was the sheer amount of questions answered. They’d developed a communication system of sorts, writing notes to each other on their arms and then transforming. The first few conversations after discovering this technique had been interesting. 

_ I fucking hate you so much.  _ That was Jackson, the messy scrawl blackening his forearm,  _ I’m going to write something obscene on my forehead and then transform just to spite you.  _ Finding out you’d successfully ‘stolen’ your own ghoulfriend surely sucked. Holt understood the anger, even if he found it amusing. 

_ Go ahead. Can’t exactly get lower in the social hierarchy.  _

_ Bitch.  _

_ Normie.  _

_ That was low, Holt.  _

_ Dude, you’re the one with swears all over your arms and I’m the low one?  _

Holt chuckled at the memory, the threats serious but also not somehow. Jackson was like an annoying younger sibling to him. After a few days Hyde thought they’d come to an agreement, a strange kind of equilibrium. They hadn’t.

_ I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Why am I like this? All my friends like you more than me. I hate this.  _

The words were messy and capitalized, Holt finding them scribbled across the muscle of his stomach and thighs. Jackson must have had a bad day that day. Holt was a troublemaker, but the idea of his existence causing so much pain didn’t sit right. He washed the text off in the shower, trying to stop the sadness from seeping in.

“Holt!”

The gravel came into view again, waking him up from his drunken daydream. Turning around, he got a glimpse of the purple vehicle speeding into view. Clawdeen Wolf was in the driver's seat, Frankie next to her, the rest of the gang and Deuce sitting in other parts of the car.  _ Great, a babysitter.  _ He was sick of the over dramatic concern for  _ him _ as well, Holt Hyde wasn’t some  _ weakling _ like Jackson. 

He winced at his mental wording 

Whipping a marker out of his top pocket, he scribbled  _ ‘Sorry JJ x’  _ on his forearm. 

“What do you want,” he slurred, the words shortened and accented, “Frankie Fine come to see me at last.” Turns out the reveal of an alternate personality automatically cancels any dates you have, who knew? He made a kiss face at the Ghoul, tone laced in sarcasm. The existence of Jackson's diary made him shamefully nosy. She hurt his feelings.  _ You’ve hurt his feelings too, man. Shut up! _

“You know it’s complicated, Holt.” Her hands were wringing nervously against her seat belt. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Holt waved his hand dismissively at the car, done talking and content to return to his thoughts. Turning away, he nearly tripped over his shoe laces. A rock song started to play, and he hummed along before he thought about it.

“Let’s just leave him, Frankie,” Clawdeen said, a frown on her face but voice firm, she was better at this than the more emotional Ghouls, “he always makes it back in the end.”

“No! We  _ have  _ to prove to him that we’re there for him. For Jackson if not for Holt. No one should have to deal with this alone. We’re his friends.”

“She’s right there, mate,” Lagoona Blue nodded as she spoke, blue skin tinted gold in the streetlight, “we can’t just let him wander home in that state.”

“And think of how confused Jackson will be when he wakes up!” Draculaura chimed in, her eyes glistening with emotions as she remembered finding him in her backyard, the pieces clicking into place when Holt was revealed. Cleo was in the remaining seat with Deuce on the back above her, legs either side of her. She idly stroked his lower leg and looked stricken, but stayed silent.

Holt noticed the car trailing him in his peripherals but chose to ignore it. Instead he listened to the loud, booming beats his headphones were producing. The music kept him here, kept him high, he was grateful for it.

“Holt you’ve got to stop doing this, man,” Deuce tried to reason once the car was close enough, “your hurting Jackson as well as yourself.”

Holt actually laughed at that. They had no idea of the progress they’d made. Jackson and Holt were communicating, coming to an understanding. The fiery being told the group just that. “He still wakes up with  _ your  _ hangovers, Holt,” Deuce raised his voice slightly, obviously shocked at himself for doing so but carrying on anyway, “do you ever think about him?”

Pausing at that, Hyde furrowed his brows. He was aware that he dumped his headaches onto Jackson like the Normie was some kind of glorified garbage tip. It was the easy way out. He’d become conscious of this habit but chose to ignore it.  _ Normie gets good grades after all, can’t affect him that much.  _

Holt cared, but he didn’t. It was confusing. The carefree persona was easier. Never thinking about consequences was  _ easier _ . But the thought of Jackson hungover and tired bothered him more than it should. 

All of Jackson's little issues seemed to bother him more than they should. 

A curse. 

_ Thanks Grandpa you’re a real one.  _

Holt spun drunkenly around to face them, bringing his arms out with the spin like some kind of kids birthday party magician, throwing a dramatic ‘huzzah!’ on the end to give his ‘friends’ the old razzle dazzle. Holt looked Frankie dead in the eyes and grinned in a way he hoped at least slightly conveyed how pissed off he was at her. Stein's eyes lit up with something he couldn’t quite place. An honest man would admit he didn’t know what to do or say. An honest man would admit that he was just as messed up as the other guy. 

Holt Hyde wasn’t an honest guy.

_ Running from my problems once more. I could get used to this.  _ Holt smiled again. 

“Welcome to the nightmare inside my head.”

Holt whipped his headphones off and burst into flame. 

Jackson's eyes were wide and confused, and in his panic to move away from the lingering burning of a transformation he tripped and smacked his face on the concrete. Three of Frankie ran towards him; he counted her doppelgangers in the shattered fragments of his lenses. He needed to make sense of it all.  _ Why is she here?  _ “Frankie?”

  
  
  


“I’m here Jackson.” Bunches of hair, tinged black and white, fell over her shoulders as she took his face in her cold hands and lifted his head onto her lap. Thin fingers gently ran through his hair, while her other hand wiped his bloody nose with her sweater. He didn’t realize his nose was bleeding. 

“What? What are- Where am-“

She shushed him gently, “it’s OK, your friends are here for you.”

_ My friends?  _ Jackson closed his eyes, content not to question it for now, nodding sleepily to acknowledge her statement. Through his slightly cracked open eyelids, Jackson saw her beckon someone over, next seeing his own bloodied reflection in Deuces red rimmed shades before feeling himself being scooped up off of the ground. Jackson whimpered, still very drunk. Frankie shushed him again.

He was placed down across several laps in the back of a vehicle, meeting eyes with Clawdeen in the rear view mirror before he felt the faux leather of her jacket being thrown over him, warming him up. Draculaura had taken the front seat in place of Frankie, she reached over and ran a cold hand across his cheek. 

Jackson was confused but warm. And, for the first time in a while, fell asleep with a guarantee that he knew where he’d be in the morning. 


	3. Bull-y

“Manny! Get over here!”

An incredibly enraged Holt Hyde stomped into the Creepateria, all worked up and fiery, and you could clearly see the Minotaur he was beckoning over flinch before straightening to his full height. You only saw Holt this early in the morning when he booby trapped Jacksons car radio. 

Deuce whipped out his ICoffin to check for local traffic collisions. 

Truthfully, the situation had gotten slightly better since Holt's last bender. Jackson seemed to have slightly less hungover days and Holt had his own schedule and lessons, giving him his own time to wander about the school and cause havoc or whatever teen fire elemental alter egos did. No one knew or _wanted_ to know. 

“As long as Hyde doesn’t end up the Father of any weird half breed children,” Jackson shivered at the very sentence, “I’m letting him do what he wants.”

The gang had tried to question him further but Jackson always got defensive. Everyone except him seemingly knowing what to do with _his_ life. A nagging part of Jackson's brain convinced him they were only there for Holt. It didn’t help that ‘The Ghostly Gossip’ seemed to stalk the guy every move, the school fawning over him like he was some sort of undiscovered pop star. Monsters would approach the Normie, headphones clutched in hand, and ask to speak to Holt. Jackson wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than the bullies who only approached to force their homework onto his pile, threatening him into doing it. 

At least Holt seemed to be making himself at home in their new routine. 

Manny Taur walked over to Hyde with his usual swagger and grin, stance only slightly faltering when he realized Holt wasn’t smiling back. Holt's temper had become famous _very_ quickly. 

When the Minotaur stopped in front of the comically shorter fire elemental, he huffed as if to ask Holt what he wanted. Holt's stance shifted, hands innocently placed behind his back and an overly sweet, intimidating smile on his face. 

You could hear the collective _‘uh oh’_ as it echoed throughout the Creepateria. The tension was suffocating. 

“So,” Holt began, dragging the ‘o’ sound out and rocking on his heels, smile unwavering. He seemed so unbothered by the countless eyes on him. No one could really predict Holt. “I was rummaging through Jacksons _shit,_ as I _love_ to do, when,” he gestured in mock shock to the crowd, like the lead in some messed up pantomime, before turning back and looking Manny in the eyes, “I found _this!”_ The last word was shouted, and a disgustingly torn apart hardback found its way across the Minotaur’s head, staggering him slightly. 

“Holt, buddy, I-“

“ _You’re_ gonna explain to me exactly what you get from destroying his stuff!” Holt waved the busted notebook again, covered in Jackson’s dorky scene kid stickers and a large, gaping hole in the center. 

A hole with the exact circumference of the horns on Manny’s head. 

Holt was seething. 

Clawd got up from his seat at the boys table, coming over and placing a hand on Hyde’s shoulder. “Dude it’s just a book-“

“No it’s not!”

Manny was standing stock still, dizzy from the blow to the head. His lack of response seemed to piss Holt off more. The look in Holt's eyes was deadly. “We share a body, you idiot! You think I don’t see the bruises?” Taur shook his head and Holt continued, oblivious and agitated, “And I thought to myself, ‘my, my, Jackson _sure_ is one clumsy fucker with all this bruising he’s got going on’, and then I saw _this!_ ” The book hit Manny’s head for a second time, Holt throwing it at him full force. Clawd had backed off now, and Holt guessed the werewolf had put himself in his shoes. If it was Howleen instead of Jackson he’d be in Holts exact spot.

Holt reached up, grabbing Manny’s septum ring and bringing the hulking Minotaur to eye level, his voice deadly low. “If I find out you hurt him again,” Holt's hair ignited like Heaths’ did when stressed, "I'll set you on fire.” 

_Tad bit violent, but did the job._

Holt pulled away and let a strangely impressed Clawd put his arm around him, seeing Manny run away in his peripherals but not reacting. Clawd patted his back, “I hate bullies too, man.”

Holt sat down at a spare spot in the table, noticing how the boys and girls had pushed them together so they could sit as a group. No one seemed too displeased with Holt's actions. 

Cleo got up as soon as he sat down, though, kissing Deuce on the temple and saying goodbye to her friends, making some excuse before leaving. Holt knew she associated herself with Manny. Deuce was the only thing stopping him from going after her too. _Whatever._

Holt listened to their conversation alongside his music for a few minutes, letting his anger die down. 

“We had no idea Manny was _that_ hard on Jackson, man,” Deuce said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. 

“Yeah, we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” That was Clawd. 

Holt nodded at them, content to say nothing for a moment. In truth, he was glad Jackson had guys looking out for him. 

“Are you OK, Holt?” Frankie asked kindly, placing her cold hand on his. Holt wasn’t interested in her, if he was honest, but Jackson still was, no matter how much he denied it. They were both misfit weirdos, made for each other. Holt gripped her hand back, nodding at her question, noticing how pleased she looked that he didn’t let go. _I can’t let this go on._

Leaning forward over the table, he got close to her ear with an uncharacteristic gentleness. 

“I think you should go for the other guy, Frankie Fine.”

Her eyes widened. Holt knew he’d made the right choice. 

Still gripping her hand, he turned to the rest of the group and smiled. “And now,” he waved his free hand in the air dramatically, “back to your regularly scheduled programming.”

Holt reached behind his head and pulled his headphones off. 

Jackson appeared with a wince, the cold object in his left hand trapped in a death grip, the pain of a transformation mild but jolting. 

“Welcome back!” the table said collectively, and Jackson unconsciously relaxed when he noticed who he was surrounded by. He looked over idly, noticing who was holding his hand. 

“Frankie!” He pulled away, cheeks flushed. _Real smooth, dude._ His internal monologue didn’t quite sound like him. With a surge of confidence, he held her hand again, softer this time. Frankie seemed pleased. Jacksons insecurity bubbled up and he tried to ignore it. 

The bell rang. 

They held hands all the way to class. 

Jackson pulled open his busted locker door and reached in to grab his stuff, noticing the way Manny seemed to be avoiding him with a frown. _I’m not complaining._

Looking back into his locker, he noticed his hand brush against something that wasn’t there before. 

Jackson pulled out a notebook, perfect and new, exactly like his old one before it got destroyed. He ran his fingers along the side and noticed a lock firmly attached to the covers. Quickly, he felt around for the key. 

Opening up the book, his eyebrows rose behind his glasses when a page of decorative stickers slipped free from where they’d been wedged between the pages, drawing his eyes to a small sticky note covered in gems. 

_Tell anyone about this and I’ll curse your family x_

_-Cleo_

Jackson pulled the book to his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Holt would actually hurt Manny, but I wanted to do a threat that he'd be actually able to do and that would hurt Manny so yeah.


	4. Snogs, scraps and *looks at smudged notes on hand* scrabble?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done. I'm very sorry for the update delay, this month has been exceptionally hard and I simply did not have the time to finish editing. However, I enjoyed writing this, and will probably look more into Monster High in the future. Any prompts or requests would be appreciated over at [My writing tumblr](https://latenightsgunfights.tumblr.com/post/188754517636/software-instability)
> 
> Stay safe <3

“Hey Jackie!”

The loud bustle of the hallway had Deuce gently pushing to slip his tall frame through the crowd, his snakes hissing when people brushed his shoulder a little too hard. 

Jackson didn’t look up from his space close to his locker, eyes down as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth. He acknowledged the Gorgon with a slight head tilt. “What do you need?”

Deuce finally got close to the Normie with a huff, leaning against the locker in Jacksons eyeline. “So,” Deuce said, dragging out the ‘o’ as if what he was about to say was awkward or uncomfortable, “there’s this _party_ at Cleo’s tonight and I-“ 

Jackson didn’t let him finish, pulling his clean glasses up onto his nose and rolling his eyes, a mumbled ‘ _for fuck sake’_ escaping as he reached up in to his locker and pulled out his headphones, moving to put them on. 

“What are you- No man I’m asking _you!”_

Jackson hesitated at that, looking at Deuces serious expression and wondering if his ears were as defective as his eyes. _Me?_ “Why?”

“What d’you mean _why?_ Holt always crashes our parties, we wanted to check if _you_ wanted to come. I _know_ your trigger makes it tricky, but Cleo’s house is massive and I’m sure we can find a quiet area so Holt gets his fun and we get to see you.”

Jackson was confused. This wasn’t him. Jackson Jekyll didn’t get invited to parties. The last one he knowingly went to left him with a painful headache and knowledge of a new alter ego. “I-I’ll think about it,” he said at last, grabbing a marker from his top pocket and scrawling a reminder on the inside of his wrist. Deuce said his goodbye with a firm tap on Jackson shoulder before walking off to find Cleo.

* * *

Jackson wandered into the Creepateria, scanning around the loud room to find the large table all his friends claimed as their own. A genuine smile curved his lips when he saw Frankie sitting next to Clawdeen, and she returned it once she saw him, standing up as he approached and pulling him into a tight hug. When she pulled away he sat down next to her and was immediately pulled into the conversation.

“So Jackson are you coming to _my_ party,” Cleo asked, filing her nails, feigning disinterest and yet _all so interested_. She’d been her usual spoiled self since the gift incident and Jackson was happy about it. Of course he knew she must have some shred of compassion inside her, but the fact that she didn’t coddle or care and went out of her way to ignore him was a breath of fresh air. 

“I dunno, Cleo, I wasn’t really planning on it.” His voice was quiet and neutral. 

She slammed her hands down on the desk and pointed her nail file at him like it was some medieval sword. S _he probably has an actual sword in her handbag_ now that Jackson thought of it. “How _dare_ you decline _my_ invitation to _my_ home!” she placed her hand to her heart all melodramatic, “there is no excuse. I am _insulted._ You have _insulted_ me. Truly. I wouldn’t bother with your history homework tonight, Jackson Jekyll, for you’ll be experiencing an Egyptian curse first hand.”

And with that she rose from her seat and _clicked clacked_ off somewhere.

“Just ignore her, dude,” Deuce said, eyes closed as he leaned over, casually handing Jackson his shades to clean, “She doesn’t really get that ‘Cleo’s idea of fun’ is not everyone’s idea of fun.” Deuce seemed used to it and it was almost adorable. 

Jackson hummed in response, removing the finger prints from the glasses with the soft fabric of his sweater. “She’s fine when she wants to be, man.” He surprised himself at the sentiment. Everyone snorted at that. 

* * *

Cleo’s large mansion loomed over him all scary and loud and… pyramid shaped. 

Jackson wondered how architects did it. 

_Kindly stop being an emo bitch and go to the fucking party. You can do it!_

Holt's messy scrawl was, frankly, disgusting as it littered the inside of his wrist, and Jackson hoped it didn’t catch on as some new tattoo trend.

_It’s Scene, actually. Get with the times._

_2010 Emo reboot._

_It’s fashion, Holt!_

_Not with these dorky sleeves it’s not._

Jackson smirked at the stupid conversation, covering up the writing with long, yellow and black striped sleeves. He brought them down over his knuckles and just stood there for a moment, attempting to breathe. The striped hoodie, white button up and black skinny jean combo, accentuated by colorful acrylic rings and piercings, was just _out there_ enough that Jackson could practically _hear_ his thirty something self looking at old photographs and screaming. Jackson reached to his back pocket for a cigarette before he even realized he smoked. 

“Jackson! Is that you?”

Frankie looked gorgeous. Like, painfully so. Jacksons hand shot away from his back pocket as he stared. 

_Damn, she’s hot as fuck-_

And he was slightly more in tune with his Holt side than he’d like to be. _Can you, like, not?_

Her skirt was a red smooth material, and just grazed the middle of her stitched up thighs. She’d thrown a matching cropped blazer over her shoulders but her arms hung free from it, allowing him to further see the intricate cross stitch that connected her wrists to hands. Her top was a simple black lace camisole, but it tied everything together in a way that had Jackson gasping at the sight. Her wedges crunched softly on dry leaves as she approached. “Jackson?”

She looked concerned at his silence and he smiled, causing her to smile back just as wide. She tilted her head and Jekyll noticed the braiding detail in her otherwise loose hair. Frankie placed her cold hand against his cheek, fingers brushing against the tunnel jewelry in his earlobe and giggled at the stretched flesh.

Frankie kissed him on the lips. 

It burned.

_It burns?_

Jackson pulled away and screamed, flesh tearing and morphing anew. Someone had opened Cleo’s ginormous double doors and loud club music had blared out from the inside. Eyes rolled back into his head as his muscles stiffened up, jaw locking, skin tearing. It was pain, searing, burning pain and Jackson wondered if his fire elemental blood lessened it. 

The transformation was over quickly, though, and Holt stood up from the spot the screaming human had been standing. Grimacing at his outfit, he rolled up the sleeves to his forearms and unbuttoned the neck of the shirt. 

"What _is_ up, Frankie Fine," Holt said, rolling his shoulders like he'd just awoken from a deep sleep, "I didn't expect to be out this early but I sure ain't complaining."

Frankie looked disappointed. A guilty looking monster was staring at him from the thrown open doorway and Holt felt he _may_ have ruined a moment. But a selfishness worked its way up inside his core. Holt loved parties, he loved noise. _Why shouldn't I be here? Jackson didn't wanna be. Why should I feel guilty for existing?_

But his thoughts surprisingly shifted when he saw the Ghouls defeated expression, just for a moment. _Maybe he did want to be here? Maybe I'm butting in before my turn._ Holt's eyes brushed past Frankies shoulder, seeing an _incredibly beautiful_ Operetta standing within the home looking out at him. 

And suddenly all remorse was out the window. 

"Sorry, Stein, _ya snooze ya loose_."

And with that he ran towards the party. 

* * *

"Cleo, c'mon."

"It's not _fair!_ It's my party!" 

"It's been going on for ages, baby, it's time to pack it up."

"It's because of that bloody Normie kid! Why does he matter so much to you?" Deuce gave her a look and she averted her eyes, suddenly uncomfortable, "Holts _fun_."

"Frankies been glaring at Holt and Operetta for the past three hours, babe."

"So? She's too good for the Normie anyway, maybe she'll get over him quicker."

"Cleo, _please."_

The Egyptian princess turned to her boyfriend, signing at her only weakness. His lips twitched just slightly down into a frown as he pouted, knowing exactly how to convince her. Cleo reached up, manicured nails reaching up into his scalp, his snakes wrapping around them and hissing contentedly. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and Deuces pout turned into a smirk when he knew he'd won. Sighing, she stepped up onto a nearby chair. 

"Alright everyone! Party's over! Time to leave!" Her scream made the windows wiggle slightly. 

Students sighed and shouted, but filtered out slowly.

Holt Hyde and Operetta kissed passionately against a back wall, his hands gripping her thigh as her arms scooped around his neck. An infamous Johnny Spirit watched the couple from across the room, attempting to act disinterested and failing miserably. Cleo rolled her eyes in disgust. "Stealing other people's boyfriends now, Operetta. You're lucky I don't throttle you."

The red haired phantom pulled away from the boy. "Bitch, you did _not-"_

"Operetta! Don't bother." That was Johnny, he winked at Cleo and she smirked. "A gorgeous Ghoul like you got better places to be." Cleo punctuated his sentence with a flick of her wrist, turning off the music and containing a laugh and Holt transformed in Operettas arms. The singer yelled and pushed him away, glaring as she gave up and walked away with Spirits arm around her shoulders. 

* * *

Jacksons legs felt like jelly. Recovering from the burn of a transformation left him collapsed on the floor, drunkenly trying to push himself up, body still not used to the heavy drinking. Operettas rich, expensive perfume lingered around his clothes and hair. It was strange and sickening.

"Hey Jackson!" That was Frankie. Looking around he noticed how the party seemed to be cleared. 

Frankie walked up to his curled up position on the floor, and the _click clack_ made him flinch before she kneeled down to his level, and looked him in the eyes. A cold, rough hand stroked through his hair and he could feel the bumps of her stitches against his hairline. "Come on Jackson," she gripped his arm and pulled him up slowly, "let's go and sit for a moment." 

It was so strange, their relationship. Frankie had this type of gentleness that no one else ever truly showed towards him. This unwavering, unapologetic acceptance of everything he was. And it struck him, then, that she didn't care. Holt was an obstacle but she'd always be the one sitting next to him after a late night bender, always be the one looking him in the eyes and _listening_ when he talked about science, always be the one to wave him over to a seat when all the other monsters shifted uncomfortably. Jackson supposed she knew what it was like to be different pieces, stitched together into one strange whole. This would never have happened without Holt. None of the drunken mishaps, or the last minute confidence boosts. 

She'd never called him _Normie._

Jackson was always considered too different for Monster high, but maybe his difference made him stand out. Standing out in a crowd was so terrifying, yet something he'd had to get used to very quickly. The monstrous camouflage was one of the few things about Holt he actually wanted. 

_I envy you._

Jackson wasn't sure if the voice in his head was Holts or his own, the two voices blending together in a drunken blur. 

The rest of the guys and ghouls were sitting in a circle in Cleo’s house-sized living room, a simple board game sitting in the middle yet not started. Draculaura sat in Clawds lap, leaning against his chest, an idle pink toned hand reaching up and scratching gently at his jaw, no one judging or scoffing at the outward show of affection. Deuce was talking to Cleo animatedly about the board game they were about to start, explaining the rules and characters. Cleo listened with an neutral, interested expression and Jackson knew she didn't care but loved the Gorgon too much to stop him. Lagoona and Gil were talking amongst themselves as were Clawdeen and Ghoulia. 

"Jackson!" they all said collectively, and Jackson blushed at the attention, sitting down and resting his head in Frankies lap.

The game began and everyone joined in, even Cleo. As turns were passed and jokes were made amongst the group, Jackson felt so strangely normal. When his turn came around, Jackson opened his mouth to speak. 

_Don't you dare, we're gonna lose if you make that move, try this instead._

_You're into board games?_

_Shut up._

And that strange equilibrium seemed good enough for the both of them. 

Jackson fell asleep after a few more rounds, feeling normal for the first time in a while. 

* * *

"Hey, Jackson," an awkward giggle, "fuck this is weird."

Jackson stared at the video he'd been sent, noting the way his blue skinned double seemed to twitch and grin, the tic familiar and weird to see on someone other than himself. Holt had filmed himself in the boys bathroom, setting his Icoffin down on the counter and pacing around, so much to say and yet no way to say it. 

Holt's hair ignited and he stared at the camera. "Look, I know our relationship ain't exactly great. We're just so different, yo," he laughed shyly at his phrasing before looking away, hand rubbing his nape. "I guess, what I'm tryna say is, I'm _sorry."_

Holt leaned his palms on the counter and signed, as if now the dreaded 's' word was put he could finally come clean. "I'm sorry for getting drunk and crashing that party and a whole list of other things I probably don't remember." Jackson snorted, but Holt's face was serious. 

"The truth is, I _envy_ you Jackson. I want people to hear my music, I want them to see my art, and I'd do anything to step into a room and not have to be drunk off my ass or blaring my tunes for anyone to notice." Holt had this kind of sadness in his voice that Jackson never thought he'd hear. "If we wanna make this work, we gotta start working together. I've got to work my impulse control, and _you_ your attitude problem." Jekyll laughed at that, knowing it to be true and yet hearing it from the most hectic person in his life making it sound hilarious."We belong _here_ Jackson, Normie or not, I wouldn't be whole without you."

And wasn't that just everything he needed to hear. 

Jackson shut off the video. Turning to look in his mirror, he adjusted his collar, liking what he saw for the first time. He placed his Icoffin so it faced him, turning the camera on and making last minute adjustments before turning it on and smiling. 

"You're a fucking nightmare, but I'm glad you're here."


End file.
